the popular people Amanda says she doesn’t like, as if they’re worried I could give them some disease. Dorkitis. It’s like there’s Home Amanda, who’s nice, and School Amanda, who wishes we weren’t related.
Whatever. Her little brother was a star today.
Tuesday, November 9
Finally talked to Dad today. He started off the phone call saying, “I don’t understand what got into you last week.” The guy makes big bucks managing all this technical engineering stuff at Qualcomm, but he pretends not to know why his son ran away from him.
Ordinarily I’d probably apologize for leaving the movie theater. Not tonight though. Maybe it was from acing the poetry report, or just being so mad at him. Whatever it was, I didn’t back off. I told him I didn’t like having to see his girlfriend every week.
Then Dad said, “She’s quite fond of you.” Quite fond of me. Yeah, right. That she’s this important part of his life, that he loves her, blah blah blah. Instead of listening to me he had to defend himself. And I know The Thighmaster can’t stand me. Saying she’s quite fond of me is a big fat lie, and how stupid is Dad for trying to pull that over on me?
Not stupid. Just, I don’t know, someone who thinks his son is stupid. But I’m not. Just ask my English teacher or Sydney Holland. I’m Captain Sensitive.
Then he got another call and put me on hold.
So I walked around my room with the cordless, thinking, I hate arguing with people, especially Dad. Thinking I should just see how things turn out Sunday—maybe The Thighmaster will be nicer. I waited forever. Well, 4½ minutes. I was ready to give in, like I usually do.
Then I started whispering my poem. I pictured myself in front of the Honors English class again, Gina staring at me with her big dark eyes, Ms. Dore scribbling notes. I remembered Duke going through all those old poetry books with me. And I imagined Robert Frost, hunched over a little wooden desk like mine, but without the computer and Princess Leia mousepad, writing out the poem with a long quill pen. I pictured myself telling my classmates that the road less traveled can make all the difference.
And then I imagined myself squishing my long Gumby body into the backseat of Dad’s car, while The Thighmaster rode shotgun with her fake little smile.
That’s when the poem clicked. I figured out what Frost was saying before, but tonight I really felt it. It was so weird, I almost saw a lightbulb turn on in front of me, like in those old Warner Brothers cartoons.
I thought about the usual road I take, just going along with people, waiting for things to happen. Waiting for Dad to get back on the phone. Waiting to see how it would go on Sunday. I decided right then to take a different road.
He got back on, not even apologizing for keeping me on hold so long, just saying, “Hi, Champ,” like calling me Champ would make everything all right.
Then I said it: “I won’t see you with your girlfriend.”
Long silence. Then he goes, “Mike?” And I go, “Yeah?” He didn’t say anything. Then I said, “Dad?” And he said, “What?” Then another silence. Then he finally goes, “I’ll call you back,” and he hung up on me.
So today I took a road less traveled. I don’t even know what’s going to happen with me and Dad now. But I’m 14 years old. I told him what I want. And that has made all the difference. I hope.
Wednesday, November 10
Heather Kvaas slid a note into Nate’s locker today. I think I remember what it said exactly. I should. We stared at it long enough.
Your poetry reading sucked a lot.
But I still think you’re pretty hot.
Have a great day.
Love, Heather K.
So I ace the report and get an A from Ms. Dore. Nate blows the report and gets a love note from one of the prettiest girls in 9th grade. Figures.
Thursday, November 11
Went to Golden Village today to thank Duke for giving me the poem. He wanted to show me more poems. Thought I might enjoy them. I’m not
Whatever. Her little brother was a star today.
Tuesday, November 9
Finally talked to Dad today. He started off the phone call saying, “I don’t understand what got into you last week.” The guy makes big bucks managing all this technical engineering stuff at Qualcomm, but he pretends not to know why his son ran away from him.
Ordinarily I’d probably apologize for leaving the movie theater. Not tonight though. Maybe it was from acing the poetry report, or just being so mad at him. Whatever it was, I didn’t back off. I told him I didn’t like having to see his girlfriend every week.
Then Dad said, “She’s quite fond of you.” Quite fond of me. Yeah, right. That she’s this important part of his life, that he loves her, blah blah blah. Instead of listening to me he had to defend himself. And I know The Thighmaster can’t stand me. Saying she’s quite fond of me is a big fat lie, and how stupid is Dad for trying to pull that over on me?
Not stupid. Just, I don’t know, someone who thinks his son is stupid. But I’m not. Just ask my English teacher or Sydney Holland. I’m Captain Sensitive.
Then he got another call and put me on hold.
So I walked around my room with the cordless, thinking, I hate arguing with people, especially Dad. Thinking I should just see how things turn out Sunday—maybe The Thighmaster will be nicer. I waited forever. Well, 4½ minutes. I was ready to give in, like I usually do.
Then I started whispering my poem. I pictured myself in front of the Honors English class again, Gina staring at me with her big dark eyes, Ms. Dore scribbling notes. I remembered Duke going through all those old poetry books with me. And I imagined Robert Frost, hunched over a little wooden desk like mine, but without the computer and Princess Leia mousepad, writing out the poem with a long quill pen. I pictured myself telling my classmates that the road less traveled can make all the difference.
And then I imagined myself squishing my long Gumby body into the backseat of Dad’s car, while The Thighmaster rode shotgun with her fake little smile.
That’s when the poem clicked. I figured out what Frost was saying before, but tonight I really felt it. It was so weird, I almost saw a lightbulb turn on in front of me, like in those old Warner Brothers cartoons.
I thought about the usual road I take, just going along with people, waiting for things to happen. Waiting for Dad to get back on the phone. Waiting to see how it would go on Sunday. I decided right then to take a different road.
He got back on, not even apologizing for keeping me on hold so long, just saying, “Hi, Champ,” like calling me Champ would make everything all right.
Then I said it: “I won’t see you with your girlfriend.”
Long silence. Then he goes, “Mike?” And I go, “Yeah?” He didn’t say anything. Then I said, “Dad?” And he said, “What?” Then another silence. Then he finally goes, “I’ll call you back,” and he hung up on me.
So today I took a road less traveled. I don’t even know what’s going to happen with me and Dad now. But I’m 14 years old. I told him what I want. And that has made all the difference. I hope.
Wednesday, November 10
Heather Kvaas slid a note into Nate’s locker today. I think I remember what it said exactly. I should. We stared at it long enough.
Your poetry reading sucked a lot.
But I still think you’re pretty hot.
Have a great day.
Love, Heather K.
So I ace the report and get an A from Ms. Dore. Nate blows the report and gets a love note from one of the prettiest girls in 9th grade. Figures.
Thursday, November 11
Went to Golden Village today to thank Duke for giving me the poem. He wanted to show me more poems. Thought I might enjoy them. I’m not
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